


Dirty Mouth

by theonsfavouritetoy



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Face Sitting, Irrumatio, M/M, PWP, absolutely zero plot, dirty talking, practising smut again
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-25 21:55:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16669030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theonsfavouritetoy/pseuds/theonsfavouritetoy
Summary: Good morning/day/evening :)I'm still working on a tremendously long modern AU fic which is so slow burn (by my standards at least) and another one which is huuugely complicated. And then I started craving some very plotless Greysnow stuff, and since I should really practise writing smut a little more...The awesome kink generator gave me face sitting + dirty talk - only one possible outcome for this pairing :)





	Dirty Mouth

**Author's Note:**

> Good morning/day/evening :)
> 
> I'm still working on a tremendously long modern AU fic which is so slow burn (by my standards at least) and another one which is huuugely complicated. And then I started craving some very plotless Greysnow stuff, and since I should really practise writing smut a little more...
> 
> The awesome kink generator gave me face sitting + dirty talk - only one possible outcome for this pairing :)

“I cannot wait to have you in my chambers, have you on your knees…” 

Theon’s voice sends one shiver after the other down Jon’s spine. It’s hard to keep a straight face with him whispering stuff like that the whole time. 

“I can’t decide if I’d rather have your mouth or your tight little arse. As soon as this is done with, I’ll take you up there and have my way with you,  _ every  _ way…”

“Would you shut up, Greyjoy?” Jon hisses, trying to shrink into invisibility as the king’s eye roams over the assembled crowd until fixing on Father. 

They get up after the king has greeted the family, and to Jon’s horror Theon’s hand now wanders underneath his thick cloak and starts fondling Jon’s arse through his breeches. At least the cloak conceals Jon’s reaction to these indecent touches. 

“Come on, Snow, come with me… I need to spill so bad, and I’d rather do it in you than in my smallclothes. Come, Snow… My balls hurt, I need you to take care of it with your lovely mouth…”

He goes with him purely to shut him up. His siblings are occupied with the king, Jon and Theon won’t be missed now, the bastard and the hostage. Jon just has time to latch the door of Theon’s chambers before he is being shoved to his knees, still in his thick cloak. The fire is blazing and Jon gets hot, too hot, but then Theon’s prick is freed from his breeches and he forgets about everything but the task in front of him. 

Theon groans loudly when Jon takes the head into his mouth, gently suckling it while wrapping his hand around the shaft. Jon likes this, has liked doing it from the start of this thing between them. He loves the taste, he loves the smell, how it becomes everything he can sense, a little world where it’s just him and Theon’s prick.

He likes the sounds Theon makes when Jon teases the slit with his tongue and lips, he likes how Theon moans when Jon takes more of his length in, the cries of pleasure when Jon swallows him down, deep down his throat, fighting against his gag reflex, and winning. 

What he doesn’t like at all is the talking. Nay, that’s not entirely true. Jon does like the nice things, he likes the pet names and the praise, he likes to hear that he’s good, that Theon enjoys what he’s doing. Unfortunately, these are not the only things coming out of Theon’s mouth. 

“You’re such a slut for my cock, Snow, love it down your throat, right, you love getting a thick load of my seed in your mouth, don’t you?”

No, Jon wants to say, weren’t his mouth occupied, no I’m not a slut. The rest he can’t deny, it’s true enough, but that doesn’t mean he likes to  _ hear _ it. The things they’re doing are so wrong, indecent, deviant, dishonourable - one mustn’t  _ talk _ about it, Jon thinks.

But there’s no stopping Theon, and sometimes he will say nice things, the stuff Jon likes to hear. 

“Fuck, your mouth is a miracle, Snow,” he mutters now, eyes half closed. “You’re so good at this that my knees are getting weak… Must lay down, come on, come to bed with me, Jon…”

And  _ that’s  _ what Jon likes to hear the most, his name said with such reverence, by Theon Greyjoy, who can have every wench in Winterfell and around, who could’ve had the lordling instead of the bastard, but has chosen  _ Jon  _ of all people. 

So it’s with an eagerness he wouldn’t want to admit to himself that Jon drops his cloak, getting rid of the rest of his clothes before crawling onto the bed and between Theon’s legs to resume what he’s begun before. Unfortunately, Theon’s foul mouth gets the better of him again. 

“Turn around, Snow, be a good little whore… Yes, just like that, show me your tight little hole, don’t forget to suck me, Snow… Fuck, you’re still red and swollen from the morning, I bet I could stuff you with my cock without getting you ready…”

Jon huffs around Theon’s prick, feeling his ears redden at the obscenity of Theon’s words. He bobs his head faster, hoping to get Theon to praise him for his skill at sucking dick again, or maybe stop talking altogether, but no such luck today. 

“Drowned fuck, I want to fuck you so bad, I want to slide my cock into you until I’m buried whole, want to fuck you open until you scream like a good whore, like the slut you are for my cock in your holes… What  _ would  _ your lord father say if he knew--”

And that right there is the limit, there’s only so much Jon can take, and in his desperation to finally shut Theon up, he lets go of his prick with a wet plop, sitting up - straight onto Theon’s face. There’s a surprised, muffled noise, then something sounding like half-assed protest, but before Jon can think the better of it he feels something entirely unexpected:

Theon’s mouth closes around his arsehole and he  _ sucks _ , making Jon shout out in shock and - well, it feels fucking  _ good.  _ He writhes, wriggles his arse back against Theon’s mouth to get more. And more it is he gets, for after hearing something like a chuckle Theon’s hands come up to squeeze his arse cheeks, pulling them apart, and then,  _ then _ , he gets his tongue right in there and goes to town on Jon’s arse. 

Jon gasps, moans, cries out, having no ear for the sounds he’s making anymore, and then it happens. He can feel it crawling up into his chest, bubbling in his throat, threatening to spill out of his mouth - he tries desperately to keep it in, he bites his lips until he tastes blood, all to no avail. His lips open and the dam breaks with a violence ripping Jon away with it. 

“Yeah, that’s right, Greyjoy, get your tongue right in there, use that fucking big mouth of yours for something useful for once. Always babbling about the Drowned God, now  _ fucking drown in my ass!!!” _

Jon’s hand has wandered to his own cock, jerking it frantically as Theon continues to suck and lick and stab his arse with his tongue, expletives as lewd and filthy as any Theon’s ever uttered flying from Jon’s mouth in an endless stream until he tenses, feeling his arse convulse around Theon’s tongue, his prick pulsing in his fist and spilling hot, white ribbons all over Theon’s chest. 

Jon sits still for a long moment, trying to get his breath back, but after a moment he starts to hear soft noises beneath him that prompt him to slink off of Theon and collapse on the furs. The last minutes start to filter back into Jon’s mind, the things he’s said, and all he wants to do now is hide his face in the furs and probably die of shame. 

“Snow.”

“Don’t,” Jon groans, laying his arm across his eyes so he doesn’t have to see him, “don’t say it. I have no idea where that came from, alright?”

He can hear him chuckle, and then a warm weight settles on his chest. “Jon”, he hears, “look at me.” Jon shakes his head, keeping his arm where it is. He won’t ever look at Theon again in his whole life. He’ll take the black, go to join the Night’s Watch, anything to avoid Theon’s smug face forever. 

“Jon, stop being childish.”

He can feel Theon leaning forward, can feel his warm breath on his face, and then Theon kisses him. It’s weird, knowing that he’s practically tasting himself on Theon’s tongue now, weird and dirty and - Jon’s prick twitches to life again and another wave of shame threatens to drown him. He still kisses Theon back eagerly. Greyjoy’s a bloody skilled kisser. 

Against his will, Jon’s arm drops from his face and he blinks until Theon’s face comes into view, hovering over Jon’s. He’s grinning like the cat that got the - Jon shudders, that’s definitely not a thought he wants to follow. His wide, smiling mouth is red, his lips swollen. Jon’s dick twitches again. 

“Hey…” Theon’s voice sounds soothing, affectionate even. “Don’t worry, Snow. I liked it.”

Jon feels his cheeks flush hotly again, he can feel that Theon’s not lying - he’s still rock hard, his prick rubbing against Jon’s belly as he bends down to kiss him again. 

“But…”

Here it goes, Jon thinks miserably. Now he’ll tell him what a dirty whore he is. 

“But I’d say you owe me quite a lot. I got you off on my frankly quite skilled tongue - it’s only fair if you let me come in your even more skilled mouth, isn’t it?”

Well, Jon really can’t protest against this. He nods, waiting for Theon to get up and let Jon go back to where he’d left off before, but instead Theon clambers up his chest, his prick only an inch from Jon’s mouth. 

“Open up, sweetling,” Theon murmurs, and Jon shudders at the tone of his voice. “Open up and let me fuck that pretty face.”

Jon does, he couldn’t protest if he’d wanted to. Theon smiles, smug yet still nice somehow, and slides his prick between Jon’s waiting lips. He sucks him down immediately and Theon falls forward with a startled yelp, propping himself up with his hands against the stone wall behind his bed. 

Jon sucks as if he’s getting coin for it, swallowing around the hard length in his mouth, but despite his low moans this obviously isn’t what Theon wants now. He shuffles until he kneels above Jon and, still leaning forward, rams his cock hard down Jon’s throat, all the way in until Jon has his nose in coarse hair. 

“Don’t move, sweetling… Just keep your mouth open and let me… let me…”

Jon obeys, relaxing his jaw and throat as good as he can, and lets Theon have his way. He doesn’t go gentle. His thrusts are rough and quick, every single one going as deep as possible. Jon’s eyes start watering, he’s drooling down his chin, can’t swallow enough saliva, his throat protests and he gags a couple of times, but nothing on earth could make him want to stop now, for Theon’s talking again. 

And he’s saying the sweetest things. 

“I love having you like this, Jon, your lovely dark eyes looking up at me like this, your beautiful red mouth stretched around my cock… fuck, I can see your throat bulge when you swallow like this, Drowned God, yes, do it again, you’re bloody perfect, fuck, yes, just like this, you’re my perfect boy, fuck I -- Jon!”

With a long, loud groan, Theon rams his prick into Jon’s mouth a last time, Jon can feel it throb in his throat as Theon spends in it, he coughs and splutters, his own prick fully hard again now, his only thoughts the wonderful things Theon is saying. 

It seems an eternity before Theon finally pulls out of Jon’s mouth and collapses next to him. Jon is gasping for breath, now that he can, wondering if he’ll be able to speak at all the rest of the day, and if anyone would even require him to. Probably not, and for once he’s absolutely fine with it. 

After a while Jon sighs. He should get up, get dressed and maybe go down for a little training session. Theon has to get ready for the inevitable feast, and they’ve both come once, so technically they’re done. But just when his resolve is made, a hand snaking onto his belly pushes him down again. 

“Where do you think you’re going, Snow?” Theon’s hand closes around his prick, and Jon gasps. “No one said I’m done with you yet.”

Well, Jon thinks as he settles back into the furs, he can live without a training session. 


End file.
